


XI

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [13]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:58:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in many years, Paul thinks, <i>Fuck it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	XI

The next day is Saturday. Paul spends the morning packing up Jane’s things and leaves them in the front hall ready for the post on Monday. It’s too much bother to deal with it today. Going through her drawers was miserable enough.

He putters around the kitchen for an hour after getting himself lunch and finally gets so frustrated with himself that he goes down to the station. 

By five that afternoon, his desk has never been cleaner and he’s considering tackling the main filing cabinet next. While Foyle likes his individual files neat and tidy, he’s never been the best at keeping a filing system going -- it tends to become increasingly idiosyncratic the more he uses it. Paul pauses with his hand on the top of the cabinet, remembering a conversation they’d had about a case file he couldn’t track down when he and Foyle first worked together. When he’d asked, Foyle had told him, with some surprise in his voice, that it was in the drawer next to the files for an entirely different matter which had taken place years before and was completely unnconnected but had occurred on the same _road_ as the file Paul was trying to find. Paul had pointed out that this was not a connection anyone else was very likely to make but Foyle, in turn, had pointed out that he kept an index to the files in a neat binder on top of the cabinet. Paul’s next suggestion that perhaps simply putting the records in a more obvious order would save all the time indexing took up had simply met with a grumble.

He pulls open the first drawer now but before he can do anything, the door opens behind him.

‘Ah, I thought you might be here.’

He freezes. There’s no reason Foyle shouldn’t come into the station on a Saturday afternoon; there’s no reason he shouldn’t be surprised to see his sergeant here. There is equally no reason that Foyle’s calm, quiet voice should make him suddenly feel as though his clothes are both too hot and too tight and he curses himself silently and then makes himself turn around. ‘Yes, sir.’

Foyle is standing by the door, one hand on the knob, hat in his other hand. Not for the first time, it occurs to Paul that Foyle always looks as though he’s just discovered something curious -- interesting, but possibly a bit baffling -- and, just for a moment, he wants to laugh but he thinks it would probably come out a little hysterical so he swallows it.

‘Long Saturday.’ Foyle’s voice doesn’t make it clear if it’s a question or a statement but Paul nods anyway.

‘I packed up Jane’s things this morning. I’ll send them off on Monday.’

‘Take all the time you need. We’ve nothing pressing.’ Foyle nods to Paul’s desk. ‘Doing some extra tidying?’

Paul pats the top of the filing cabinet. ‘I thought I might tackle these next. They don’t seem to have been cleaned out in a while.’ He flicks at the files in the open drawer. ‘Do you still file by local geography, sir?’ He tilts his head and is rewarded with one of Foyle’s rare smiles.

‘You’ll notice the index is no longer in place.’

‘I thought perhaps it had become too large to keep here.’

Foyle snorts -- actually snorts -- and says, ‘I considered your suggestion and it seemed quite sound to me. After due thought.’

‘Well, I’m flattered, sir.’ Paul shoves the drawer shut with a bang. ‘I didn’t realise you thought so much of me.’ As soon as the words are out, he wants to snatch them back -- it sounds as though he’s begging for a compliment and he’s sure Foyle will think he’s just looking for attention in the wake of Jane’s telegram.

However, Foyle doesn’t seem to notice or, if he does, he makes nothing of it. ‘I thought--’ Foyle lets go of the doorknob and brushes something off the brim of his hat, eyebrows drawn together with attention. ‘--I thought perhaps you would like -- company.’ He sucks on the corner of his lower lip for a moment, a habit of his Paul has been becoming increasingly aware of. ‘This evening.’ He glances up and Paul would swear that he’s blushing. He can’t be, of course; he’s never _seen_ Foyle blush and is fairly sure the man is embarrassment-proof. 

And he’s honestly a little confused for a minute. ‘This evening, sir?’

Foyle gestures vaguely with his hat. ‘After...after the other day. And...your morning.’

‘Oh. I...yes?’

Foyle steps forward and pulls a brown paper bag out of his pocket. He sets it down on the edge of Paul’s desk with a solid thunk and gestures towards it. ‘Even...if you want to be on your own. I thought you might… Well. For you.’

‘Thank you, sir--’ Paul steps forward as Foyle steps back and it occurs to him that they look as though they’re conducting some ludicrous dance with his desk as a focal point. He picks the bag up -- heavy, smooth, glass by the feel of it -- and peers inside. The bottle is unmarked, but he holds it up to the light and the color -- even more so the smell when he uncorks it -- is unmistakeable. He looks over at Foyle -- who is watching him, hat in his hands, eyes dark and attentive. ‘Should I not ask where you got this?’

Foyle’s mouth quirks and he half-shakes his head. ‘Probably best just to enjoy it.’

Paul nods and slides the bottle back into the bag. He hefts the weight in his hand for a minute, looks back at Foyle and, for the first time in many years, thinks, _Fuck it._ ‘Were you offering to keep me company, sir?’


End file.
